


you give yourself away

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War (Marvel), Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: Steve feels Tony walking with him — to the left and three steps back — without seeing him. He must have come in one of the cruisers that accompanied his transport. That's the only way he'd be able to get this close. The familiarity of his presence is sickening. They'd spent enough years in one another's space; Steve knows what the man feels like at his shoulder. Even half-healed and no doubt bruised all to hell, Tony is here to see this through. That's just the kind of man he thinks he is.Steve knows better.A Civil War AU in which Tony Stark accompanies Steve to the courthouse for reasons he doesn't share with Steve. Steve finds out, of course, but too late.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105





	you give yourself away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tunastork (mariexa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariexa/gifts).



> so! two weeks ago i knew basically nothing about 616. but [my darling chai](https://twitter.com/tunastork) posted [this beautiful art](https://twitter.com/tunastork/status/1317599586844725248) back in october (almost four months to the day) and i've been stewing on this fic ever since. i finished it last week because reasons and asked a few other folx to look it over for me. ten million thanks to oluka for being my comics canon dealer and helping make this fic light years better than the original draft. ten million thanks to sineala for doing an additional canon sweep for me before i posted. ten million thanks to chai for letting me play in her sandbox. and a hundred million thanks to you, dear reader, for coming on this journey with me.
> 
> title from [this version](https://t.co/dYKNdNciOF?amp=1) of _with or without you_.

Steve feels Tony walking with him — to the left and three steps back — without seeing him. He must have come in one of the cruisers that accompanied his transport. That's the only way he'd be able to get this close. The familiarity of his presence is sickening. They'd spent enough years in one another's space; Steve knows what the man feels like at his shoulder. Even half-healed and no doubt bruised all to hell, Tony is here to see this through. That's just the kind of man he thinks he is.

Steve knows better.

He holds his tongue, though. He knows Tony thinks he's here to see this through, to see _Steve_ through, but really it's all about lording his victory over them in the end.

That's who Tony is now. Steve isn't quite sure he'd ever been anyone else.

And then—

And then.

* * *

A shift in the air.

A hand on his shoulder.

A shot ringing out.

A splash of blood over his cheek.

He's face-down on the ground before he can even catch his breath, turning his head and staring blankly at— at—

There's a high-pitched voice screaming in the background, but it comes to Steve's ears as though through a tunnel. There's an ache in his chest from being shoved into the concrete — for his safety? He didn't think anyone around here cared about that anymore — but it's growing, faster, faster, as though his body understands what's happening before his mind does.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He needs to fight back, needs to overcome his freeze response, needs to _do_ something, but until he's assessed the threat, there's nothing to do. Someone steps into the space between him and — _don't think it Rogers, don't, it'll break you, and you can't afford to break_ — and Steve lunges to his feet to assess the threat. He'd thought he'd seen the red dot sight on the Marshal's shoulder, but there hadn't been time to react. There hadn't been—

He hears another shot, this one closer — too close — and silenced. It comes from behind him this time — the wrong direction for a sniper. That's separate information for his brain to process, and a less immediate threat. Even if he doesn't trust Tony with any superhero's safety, some twisted part of Steve hopes he can trust him with civilians. That he can trust one of his oldest friends to take down any other assassins in their midst.

Two more silenced shots ring out, and then one more, but there's nothing more from the sniper. Everyone's attention is turned toward the third story window and the sniper, and Steve's stomach twists with the certainty that he's missed something crucial.

_You can't afford to break._

He turns to find the second shooter and his stomach drops.

He goes to Sharon first. She's unconscious, but breathing, and that's going to have to be enough, because— because—

He turns too quickly, loses his balance. His knees come out from under him and he lands hard on one hip. He reaches out for — _don't think it Rogers_ — with a trembling hand, his throat dry and his whole being in the tips of his fingers. He can't speak the name, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't understand what he's seeing, what it means that he's— that Tony's—

That Tony's _seizing_ on the ground, his head slamming repeatedly against the courthouse steps as violent convulsions ripple through his body. Steve can practically see the electricity crackling over his skin.

Wasn't Extremis supposed to _prevent_ this?

Before he can get close enough to Tony, one of the marshals pulls him back. The sharp movement is enough to bring Steve rushing back into the present, and he knocks the marshal aside. Tony's in pain, and even though he'd been seconds away from bashing the man's head just days before, he'd never wanted _this_.

Steve falls to his knees next to Tony, reaching out for him, but one of the convulsions is enough to knock Steve's hand away. He'd take it as a rejection if not for the expression in Tony's eyes. Desperate and lost and _hurting_. Bile rises in Steve's throat, and for a second he wishes he could take Tony's place.

Something must show on his face, though, because Tony's eyes go wide. His lips move too fast for Steve to catch what he's saying, and then, all at once, the convulsions cease. Tony's head falls to the side, and Steve lowers himself until he can meet Tony's eyes. He's still there, still present, and Steve can tell that it's all Tony. There's no trace of Extremis in his eyes. All at once, Steve realizes what this is. He's never been one to just hang on for the ride, but if this is what it takes—

Steve's eyes are on Tony's mouth as soon as his lips part. "Sharon—"

"I know."

Tony exhales, as though that single word had taken all the strength he had left. "Hurts."

"I know."

Blood starts to ooze from Tony's mouth, presumably from where he'd bitten his tongue or his cheek from the convulsions. God knows there's enough blood on his face from the head wound. Tony blinks once, slowly. "Home."

It only takes Steve a second to understand, but even that second is too long. Tony may only have seconds. There's something ripping through Steve's chest, tearing him asunder, but if he can just save Tony— if he can just have a _second chance_ — "Tell me what to do." The words shiver over his chapped lips and he doesn't know what they mean until he does. "Tell me how to save you."

Tony smiles, though it seems to take an impossible effort. "Home," he says again. "Steve—"

"I know, I know, me too, I just— we just needed another chance. Just give us one more chance."

"Steve."

"Tony—"

Tony's lips tip up in a smile. "Thank you."

He's gone before the last syllable has faded from Steve's ears.

Oh.

_Oh_.

* * *

Steve doesn't fight his handlers as they wrangle him down to the ground, as the last stragglers flee the area. He can see the people scattering around him and wonders vaguely if the sniper is going to do any more damage. But that isn't where his focus is. His focus is on the face turned toward him from the cold stone beneath them. His ears are ringing, buzzing, and nothing else seems to matter but that face. The slack jaw. The blood flowing slowly over that eyebrow, over those pale cheeks. The way the light is slowly going out of those brilliant blue eyes. It should be tearing him to pieces inside, should evoke some deep primal emotion in him, even though his brain isn't processing— isn't processing— isn't—

It hits him all at once. Tony. Tony's dead. That— That's wrong. That's not supposed to happen. Tony isn't— Tony _can't_ —

Steve surges up against the marshals. For a moment, he thinks he might get away with it. That he might get all the way back to Tony's side, even though there's nothing Steve can do for him at this point. Still, he has to _try_. If he doesn't, what kind of hero— what kind of _partner_ is he?

That thought jars him, slowing him down enough that his handlers are able to get him down on the ground.

Oh. Right.

"Stay down, Rogers," one of them says, "the sniper is still active."

They're not partners anymore. No matter what Tony may have said with that last breath, they're not… they're not.

The thought aches, and Steve feels himself choking on it. Tony isn't his partner, they haven't been partners in weeks, and yet— and yet—

Tony's eyes are vacant. That might be the worst part. Tony's eyes aren't supposed to be _vacant_. He's. He's brilliant. Vibrant. _Whole_. And now—

Someone's screaming again, the sound echoing in his ears. It sounds like Tony's name. Like someone crying out for him. Steve can practically feel the loss in the tone, as though it had wound its thorny vines around his lungs.

"Tony, please! Please, God, please! Don't— you can't— you can't—"

Steve doesn't close his eyes even when the screaming makes him want to hide away. He can't look away. Not now. Not ever. Not when Tony—

Steve pushes up against his handlers again, manages to get almost to his knees before they slam him down again. He fights and fights and when his vision starts to go blurry he almost accuses them of drugging him.

"Tony!"

But drugs don't work on him, and he doesn't feel any of the other side effects that would theoretically come with a drug in his system. No, this isn't that.

"Stay _down_ , Rogers!"

These are tears.

Steve doesn't close his eyes. He won't. He can't. He doesn't dare to. Not when Tony's dying (dead, Steve, he's dead) in front of him. He keeps fighting, but most of the strength has left him.

He's tired. So. Damn. Tired.

"Tony, _please_!"

But this is Tony. His Tony. The man he knows like the back of his own hand. Even when things were at their worst, even when he'd almost put his shield through the man's skull, some part of him had always thought they could find their way back to one another. That they could find one more chance. He'd hoped. And now? Now there's no chances left.

"Clear!" The voice is crackly, and Steve should know what that means, but he doesn't. "We're clear! Get Rogers the hell out of there!"

Someone's dragging him to his feet. There's a break in the shouting, and all at once Steve's mind makes the connection. Him. He'd been the one screaming. Calling out for Tony because—

" _Tony!_ "

Steve fights his handlers in earnest now, because no one knows how to take care of Tony's body the way he does. No one else knows what he wants for his funeral. Fuck, his _funeral_ , and Steve's always known they play a dangerous game, that the fight could alway have left one or both of them dead and gone, but it was supposed to be him, always him, never Tony, never the one that could engineer his way out of the Big House with his wits and a paperclip, never—

" ** _TONY_**!"

His lips can't even seem to form Tony's name right anymore. It's as though there's nothing but memories left. As though the only part of Tony he gets to keep with him is the ephemeral. Nothing of the physical.

His handlers cover him the whole way to the courthouse, only relenting when they get to the doors. It's enough time for Steve to look over his shoulder to try to catch one last look at Tony.

He's too late. There's a sheet over his body already.

The doors open, close, and there's nothing left to see anymore. His handlers get him out of the immediate line of access to the door. There's a tense standoff as the marshals talk into their headsets. Steve knows they're trying to figure out what to do next. He's too numb to even try to listen.

_It was supposed to be you._

Steve closes his eyes. He'd known it from the instant he saw Sharon unconscious on the ground. He'd known, but Tony must have known too. Must have known to be there, to get between Steve and the sniper. To stop Sharon. 

How had he known?

_His blood is on your hands,_ Captain _, just like everyone else's. Do you understand that? ___

__But that, of course, is an obvious answer. Extremis. The very thing that should have saved him was also the thing that killed him in the end. If Tony hadn't known, he'd still be alive. Steve himself might have been dead, but Tony wouldn't be. The thought leaves Steve's knees weak. It would have been hell for the ones that had followed him, but it would have saved Tony's life. It should be an easy choice, and although it is, the decision he keeps coming back to is the wrong one._ _

__He doesn't know what his world looks like without Tony to balance him. He's seen what it does when they take their differences too far, but without him? Steve just feels untethered. There's nothing left._ _

___It was supposed to be you._ _ _

__Steve doesn't pay attention to where they lead him in the end. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Not the SHRA, not whatever its supporters want to do to him… nothing._ _

__His handlers lock him in a cell — isolation, by the looks of it — and Steve wouldn't be surprised if they threw away the key. In fact, he might almost thank them for it. It's not like he has much left to go back to at this point. He's not sure he has anything._ _

__The worst part of it all, though?_ _

__He never got to make things right. That's what it had always been between him and Tony. Making things right. And this… this could never be undone. Could never be made right._ _

__Steve pitches forward, planting his face in his hands. He's not ready to cry again yet. He can't face the reality yet. There will be time enough for that later._ _

__For now, he closes his eyes and screams._ _


End file.
